


A Massage Without an Innuendo

by robotichawk



Series: Solona Amell's Adventures [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: Date: Guardian 1, 9:30 DragonDear Diary,Maker, Zevran showed me what a feet massage was today.I cannot possibly describe with words what it felt like.





	

Step after step, she trudges along the road. Her hair is gathered in a tight ponytail. Her lips curve up in a habitual smile, stony and uncomfortable. Tiny hands tap against her staff without rest, and more than once she stumbles over an odd stone poking out of the ground or trip over her feet only to have the male Warden catch her.

He conveniently doesn’t note how he lurches forward to catch her when she does. His mental notes for his Marks doesn’t need any details on him after all, no?

Her habits, her mood swings, every little detail will give him an edge when he finally goes in for the kill. Next time he draws his daggers on her, there will be no mistakes. So Zevran follows the ragtag group, watching, learning, memorizing everything he can of the Warden Mage with those black, Rinni’s eyes.

There is nothing suspicious about how he notices her limping, no? He was trained to watch for such things, to find the opponent’s weaknesses quickly to exploit it. He is simply doing his job the way he’s been trained. Nothing strange about how his eyes focus on nothing but that little limp she hides from others, how his mind doesn’t register nothing but the muffled flinches each time her feet carries her weight.

What an excellent Antivan Crow he is, no?

But why? Why is the little Warden limping? He doesn’t see any sign of wounds – and in battles she is almost as quick as young Crow apprentices. So why does she limp?

Of course, he is only concerned in case she does not limp when he goes for the kill. Exploiting this weakness of hers has no meaning if he doesn’t know what causes it. Knowing the cause of it will determine if it’s something he can use to his advantage. He must find out why she limps.

But it seems no one else notices that slight crinkle around her eyes, the silent hiss of pain, the press of her teeth on her lips. Does no one else notice how the little Warden limps? Is this why those other Magelings have not bothered to heal her? Are they all blind?

Step, step, limp. Step, step, limp. Getting worse, it seems. Brasca, why won’t she call for a break? Or ask someone to take a look at her feet?

No, it’s a good thing others don’t know. Good for him, the ever-patient assassin. But how is he to find out why she is limping, if no one else knows?

By asking, of course.

 

*******

 

“I’ve a question, if I may.”

He starts that night, sitting across the fire from the Warden. No point to putting things off, no? Those Rinni’s eyes look up with a smile, then she walks around the campfire to sit right by him.

“You don’t have to ask for permissions, Zevran. What do you want to know?” Her voice sings, a soft, wistful melody floating in the wind.

“Is that so? Well, would you be terribly offended if I were to ask why you’ve been hiding your limp?”

She grimaces, looking down at her dirty boots. He doesn’t look down, no, he keeps his eyes on her small face. Her eyes… even Rinni’s eyes weren’t so expressive, when… when she’d been down on her knees, begging for her life. What an excellent source of information she provides for him.

“You noticed? I thought I was being careful.”

“You were. I’m better than most when it comes to picking up such things.”

 “Oh. Well… since you know I guess I might as well tell you. It’s nothing much, just… I’m sure you remember, but…”

He watches the flick of her hand, and soft blue sparks dance in the air surrounding them. Such warmth he hasn’t felt in all his life – strange, no? Must be the magic. Nothing special but her magic.

“I’m a Mage.”

“I seem to recall something of the sort,” he smirks. It was her lightning bolt which paralyzed him during the ambush, after all.

“I was locked up in Kinloch Hold for most of my life. The most I had to walk in my life was the steps of the tower between the first and third floor! And now we are marching across Ferelden…”

She wiggles her feet, her too-big-boots flopping.

“Ah,”

“Don’t tell the others, will you? It’ll get better once I get used to this walking thing. Just need some more muscle.”

So he must strike before she adjust to this new life of hers, no?

“Come now, you intend to suffer silently through this dreadful hardship? A beautiful and fascinating woman such as yourself must have the means of easing her pains?”

She flushes crimson and looks down, hiding her face behind a curtain of ebony locks and he chuckle. Such innocence. Locked up in a Circle, no wonder she has no resistance against men. How easy this makes it for him. It is always good to have multiple tactical strategies against difficult targets.

Rather, seducing her than engaging her in open combat might be easier. If so, this limping of hers is of no concern to him. Maybe he can even help her feel better, no? Earn her trust?

“Here, my thought is this: you take those dusty old boots off, and I show you some of the skills I have picked up on the road. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Skills?”

“The sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

“What’s a massage?”

“I, ah… what?”

“I’ve never heard of ‘massage’ before. What is it?” She is staring at him now, her dark eyes wide with honest curiosity.

“Never heard of a massage? How is that even possible? Did you live under a rock, Warden? Did no one ever offer to give you a nice massage in private? There must have been others, looking the way you do.”

“Uhm… no?”

“Oh. Oh, well then. A massage is… how should I put this… where one works the soreness of muscles out of another through rubbing and squeezing, to relieve pain and for relaxation. There are also other innuendos which a _massage_ comes with…”

_And one is also appalled at having to explain what it is._

“I wave my hand and torn muscles knit back together. Is it a non-magical version of it?”

“No… no Warden, it’s not. It’s… perhaps it’ll be faster to show you?”

“Oh okay. What do I need to do?”

“Here, let me.”

‘What’s a massage’? She had to be joking, no? How could she not know?

He leans down to slide her boots and socks off her small feet. Tiny, roughened and blistered things, looking cracked and dry.

He imagined that tiny sharp pang where his heart is, yes?

She groans the moment his hands grip her shins, and that’s a very tight little legs this little Warden’s got there. Digging his thumbs in, he watches her gasp in surprise and clutch at his arm.

“Maker, what- ah! Zevran, this is- ha! O sweet Maker…”

A little more than a melted puddle by his side, no? On his honor, she will not limp tomorrow when she walks. She will not suffer through sore legs again while he is there.

_Because… because he… she’s… well, it wouldn’t be fun without her at her best, now, will it? It’s just to make the hunt more entertaining. No other reasons, absolutely none._

_…probably._


End file.
